Ever After
by Silverbellsb
Summary: Tangled with a twist - is it possible to be alive without truly living? She thought it would be enough to cherish the memories of the world in all its splendor, the feeling of the grass on her toes and the wind in her hair. She. Was. So. Wrong.
1. Prolouge

**Hi everyone! :D**

**I've been reading lots of 'Tangled with a twist' stories and decided to write my own, which will (hopefully) be my first multi-chapter Tangled fic. This twist isn't very original, but it's interesting enough. You all know how the Grimm version of Rapunzel's story goes, right?**

**With all the "Rapunzel, let down your hair"s and the part when the poor prince goes blind?**

**Here's Tangled if Rapunzel's dream had gone smoothly - no Mother Gothels finding out about her escape, no getting stuck in a flooding cave, no magic-hair demonstration.**

**But –**

**But our beloved Flynn just can't seem to stay away, can he? *winkles* ;)**

**Read, and review, please!**

O*O*O

_Prologue _

The tower stands before them like a silent guardian, its smooth white stones glowing in the moonlight. It fills Rapunzel's view, and all at once she feels a rush of strange emotions; happiness, sadness, relief, longing, immense melancholy. She's torn between wanting to climb back up into the warm safety of the tower and the freedom of living her life, being part of the world, not just an outsider looking in.

Yet she knows what she must do.

She feels Pascal scrambling up her arm to perch on her shoulder, where he lays a reassuring little paw on her cheek. She smiles at him, but she can't shake this overwhelming feeling of sadness. She doesn't want to leave this world…

But she has to. For Mother.

"You okay?" asks Flynn. He comes up behind her and gently steers her toward the tower.

"I'm fine," she murmurs. She knows he doesn't believe her, but he doesn't ask any questions, and she feels a surge of gratitude toward him. He's been so sweet, taking her to see the lanterns, letting her release one, and making her dream come true… but once she gives back his satchel, he'll leave for good. She'll never see him again, her first human friend. Granted, he's still coarse and secretive, but something in him has… shifted. Opened up, ever so slightly. And that's where his smiles and reassuring words leak out.

They're friends. Even though it hasn't been said outright, they are. Unlikely ones, less-than-open-with-each-other ones, but still friends.

And now they'll be parting ways for good.

She can taste bitterness on her tongue. Swallowing it down, she pushes Flynn out of her mind and wishes the walk to the tower would last forever. She relishes the feeling of the lush cool grass tickling her toes, the smell of wildflowers, the sight of water droplets glistening on the dandelions. A nighttime breeze gently ruffles her golden hair for the last time.

All too soon, they reach the base of the tower. Rapunzel has to crane her neck to see all the way to the top, and she realizes just how enormous her home is – and how empty. She leans down, and strokes the petals of the wildflowers and the blades of grass one final time before unbraiding her hair, careful not to crush the flowers that have been woven in. She lets the little blossoms fall to the ground where they belong, takes her hair, swings her arm back, and lets the golden locks fly. They neatly wrap themselves around the hook by the windowsill, and behind her Flynn gives a whistle of admiration. She can't help but smile. She'll miss having someone to impress.

Bracing her feet against the smooth white stones of the tower, she climbs until she is high above the earth, where the blanket of the night wraps itself around her, where she feels warm and safe. Pausing to take a breath, she looks out over the forest. From her height, the trees are bathed in moonlight and are tinted silver, and a million stars shimmer alongside the moon. Against the clear night sky she can see the silhouette of the castle, where so many of her memories take place. She sighs softly, and looks down at Flynn, who's still on the ground, watching her.

"You coming up?"

"Oh. Right." He hesitates before taking her hair in his hands. "Won't it…you know… hurt?"

She laughs, a trilling, bubbly sound. "No. I'm used to it."

He looks skeptical, but he begins climbing up after her. He moves swiftly and within a few moments, he's right behind her. "You should know, Blondie, that this is the second-strangest thing I've ever done."

She looks down at him. "Really?" she says with a rueful grin. "Well, if this is only the second-strangest thing you've ever done, what's the first?"

He smirks. "Oh, something along the lines of being bonked on the head with a frying pan, getting a slimy frog tongue in my ear, and waking up tied to a chair in a secret tower by a girl with seventy-billion feet of hair."

Rapunzel laughs. "In that case, you should know that _that _was the strangest thing I've ever done, too."

They reach the top of the tower. After a brief hesitation, Rapunzel swings herself into the familiar main room. It's exactly the same as she left it, except for a thin layer of dust that covers the floor. Looks like she'll be doing extra mopping duty tonight.

She lets out a long sigh and drops her frying pan to the floor with a clatter as she reaches under the loose stone in the corner. There, lying in the dust, is Flynn's satchel, with the crown still inside. She holds the leather bag for a while on her lap, staring at it, the thoughts in her mind behaving like blades of grass thrashing in the wind.

She doesn't want Flynn to leave, oddly enough.

She also wants him to go away so Mother will never find out about her rebellion.

She wants to change her mind and run away from this place; already she's feeling cramped and confined, just as she has for eighteen years.

She also wants to stay here where she's safe, where she has Mother, where she's loved.

A coughing sound makes her look up. Flynn is casually sitting in the windowsill, one leg thrown over the other. He's watching her, but she can barely meet his gaze.

"Hey," he calls. "What's up, Goldie?"

She goes over to him, holding the satchel to her as though unsure of whether to give it to him or not. He looks surprised when she places it in his lap.

"I told you, when I make a promise, I never, ever break it." She smiles.

He coughs. "Well, I can't really argue with that. But…" He's playing with the leather shoulder strap by now, and when he looks back at her she sees emotions she can't name. "Are you sure about this?" he asks. "I mean, you've been in here for eighteen years, you've only left for one day, and you're still going to stay here?"

She doesn't really have an answer for that.

"What I mean is… I could show you a lot. Way more than what you saw today…" He trails off and is suddenly interested with some spot on the wall over Rapunzel's shoulder.

She laughs softly. "Thanks, Flynn. It's really sweet of you to worry about me, but I'll stay here so I can paint my new murals, if not for Mother's sake."

"Me? Worry? About you?" he says incredulously, sounding a lot like his old self. "No, that was just… um…well! I should be going…"

But as he prepares himself to slide down her hair, she stops him. "Wait," she says, and leans forward and pecks him on the cheek, giggling as he turns red. "If you weren't so rotten, I might never have seen those lanterns. Thanks for everything, Flynn."

He mumbles something that doesn't make sense, grasps her golden hair in both hands, and slides down. Before he disappears into the shadows, though, he turns and looks back up at her. The light from the moon makes it easy for her to see his face, and she sees him smile slightly up at her for the last time. Then he slips out of the hidden valley, the shadows slowly consuming him until he is no longer there.

Even after she knows he's completely gone, Rapunzel stands at the window, her hair still hanging out the window, blowing in the breeze down below like a palpable ray of sunshine in the night. She remembers all the people she's met and the friends she's made – the pub thugs, ugly on the outside but radiant and loving on the inside; Maximus, the horse, so bold and determined and yet so sweet; the wonderful people of the kingdom, who joined her in a lively dance she'll never forget; and Flynn, whom she's only just met and getting to know, the thief who can be labeled as a loveable jerk, the one who she has so much to discover about, like he's been closed up for so long and she has to find a way to coax him out of his shell, to open up, to see the light.

She looks down at the wide world, with all its thrills and joys and beauty, so unlike the world Mother has described to her, and pulls a single golden flower out of her hair. Its petals are pure sunshine, and they curve upward to meet each other at the tips. To Rapunzel, it looks very much like a lantern.

She lets it fall, watching as it spirals slowly through the air just like a lantern; only her flower is slowly falling, not ascending. One by one, the petals break off, and they swirl downward. One by one, they fall to the earth… the spirit of a dying dream.

O*O*O

**This is just the beginning… dun dun dun! Did I mention that everyone in the world seems to own a copy of Tangled – EXCEPT ME? Gah. At least I got to watch it at my friend's house… her little sister and I twirled like crazy during the kingdom dance scene. Somehow, we ended up letting go of each other and ending up on opposite sides of the room at the same moment Flynn and Rapunzel met at the end of the dance… go figure. :) **

**Yeah, I know. A thirteen-year-old dancing with an eight-year-old… :P**

**Anyway, I love all my reviewers – so if you want to be loved by the amazing ME, review! (LOL)**

**Peace!**

**Silverbells**


	2. Careless

**Hi ppls! D'aww, I wuv your reviews, they make me smile, bunny-hop, and chicken-dance! XD So here's the next chapter. I normally don't enjoy fillers, but I had to do this one, ya know? I promise, starting from the next chappy, things will start to pick up. Please let me know what you think.**

**BTW, an answer for your question: Why is Flynn still Flynn and not Eugene?**

**Well, if you recall, Flynn and Rapunzel managed to NOT get trapped in a flooding cave, so Flynn doesn't get a chance to tell her his real name. But you can start to see some Eugene leaking out, so he's starting to like Rapunzel as a friend only. Sorry if I didn't make this clear! :)**

**Okay, you people know the drill. Read, review, and tell me how to improve! :D **

O*O*O

Try as he might, Flynn Rider can't get back to his old life. Oh, he's tried. He's hunted around (halfheartedly) for the Stabbingtons, swiped a few gold watches and a necklace from a jewelry store, and picked a pocket or two in the marketplace. He even climbed up onto the palace roof and played a couple pranks on a few idle guards, including dropping spiders on them and sneaking into their dressing rooms and painting a few breastplates pink.

A few weeks ago – actually, not even a few weeks. A few _days _ago, he might have burst a gut laughing at the expressions on those guards' faces when they discovered frilly lace on their helmets, but just then, he'd only managed a light chuckle.

He almost feels scared. Stealing has been his life for eight years, and he's gotten so good that he can rob the Holy Father of his underdrawers. But now, he's stopped being amused by it. In fact he feels… guilty?

About seven years ago, he learned the art of not letting guilt burden you. How? _By convincing yourself there's nothing to feel sorry about._ But now, all this guilt, all these crimes he's committed, have all jumped on his back and burdened his conscience to the point of it breaking.

He dismisses all this as… uh. What _can_ he dismiss this as?

He brings a lock of hair to his mouth and nibbles it absently before realizing that Flynn Rider does NOT nibble at his own hair. Plus, he just finger-combed it. He sighs and shifts his weight, and from his height in this oak tree he can almost see the soft gray of a certain rock wall peeking up over the trees.

He looks away, determined not to let his thoughts turn to a certain girl with seventy feet of golden hair.

Flynn has always been isolated, alone, and aloof, and he likes it that way. Or, at least, he used to. Something in him feels different, and he's not sure whether it's because of relief that his satchel is finally safe in his own hands – or because of Blondie.

To his utter dismay, the latter seems to be it.

What he knows for sure is that the past few days can safely be called the most _interesting _(for lack of a better word) he's ever lived through. In fact, can you call being knocked out by a frying pan, getting a frog tongue in your ear, being tied to a chair with hair in a seventy-foot-tall hidden tower, and going on a road trip to see the annual lantern release with an eighteen-year-old girl anything less than extraordinarily, impossibly, and thoroughly interesting?

His answer… well, he doesn't dwell on it. Suffice to say that when he dropped that extraordinary girl back in her tower, he felt… bad. Like he'd just left her in the tower like a prisoner.

He slaps a hand to his forehead and lets out a groan before realizing that he's out in the woods in the middle of the day, and that both the guards and the Stabbington brothers are after him. Best to think of topics that don't involve the tower, the lanterns, or Blondie so he doesn't do anything stupid.

Yeah, that works.

And speaking of Stabbington brothers… Flynn scowls at the satchel slung over his shoulder. He shouldn't have split up with those lugs. Even though they lack brains, they make up for it with brawn. They also have anger issues – when somebody makes them mad, they go to drastic measures to make the offender pay.

In this case, Flynn is the offender, and he can only imagine what sort of brutal punishment the brothers have in mind for him.

_**Well, you've escaped them before. You can dupe them any time you need to. You're pretty much safe,**_he reminds himself. _**Besides, who's gonna stop me if I want to sell this crown for a thousand gold pieces?**_

_(Flynn! no!) _his inner 'softie' wails. Flynn knows, however, that the little voice inside him is much more than just a noisemaker. It's a person, locked away deep down, and there is no way Flynn is letting that pansy out of his cage.

_**Yeah? Try and stop me! **_

(_You wouldn't… that crown is all the king and queen have left of their daughter!_)

_**So?**_

And Flynn winces at his own thoughts, which are getting out of control. He's not part of this battle; he's an onlooker (or an onlistener, whatever you call it) and he can't stop his two sides from duking it out. All he can do is listen, mortified, to how intense and angry his thoughts can be.

_**If they love that crown so much, they should've taken better care of it**_, his darker side snaps.

(_Yes, but -_)

_**Hey. When you're careless with things you love – **_Flynn tightens his grip on the satchel – _**you don't deserve to keep them.**_

Both voices fizzle out, and Flynn blinks. His head hurts, and he suspects that his guilty conscience's burden just got even worse. It doesn't seem fair that he can't control his own thoughts. Sometimes, for instance, he'll look at his reflection in a pond or whatever and see exactly what he wants to see – a handsome young rouge who is as cunning as he is charming. Other days, he sees himself as a combination of colors – brown hair, amber eyes, and sun-darkened skin, and he doesn't see a person looking back at him. It's so confusing, and it's at times like this, when both his good and dark sides clash, he feels like a shell. A hollow, empty shell with cracks and scars from blows struck long ago.

_Shut up,_ he tells himself, tugging at his hair until it hurts. He slides out of the tree, landing with barely a sound on the grass. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out the crown, holding it up so that the sunlight passes through the big diamond on top, splashing the ground with tiny rainbows.

Tomorrow, he decides. Tomorrow, this thing is going on the market.

After all, his dark side is right. When you're careless with things you love, you don't deserve to keep them.

But then –

"RIDER!" a voice bellows, startling Flynn out of his thoughts. He whirls around and sees a group of men mounted on gallant horses. The men have crossbows at their sides, and their armor flashes in the sun. The man in front is familiar, only this time, his armor is pink, and his horse is a fierce-looking black one, instead of white.

Royal guards.

_**Oh, cra… **_

O*O*O

**Heehee! Oo, Flynn's got a grumpy side… this is making me think of Star Wars, for some reason. :-/**

**Side note: Flynn's 'good' side is actually Eugene… just in case. See! Y'all get some Eugene early on! And one heck of a mean side, for that matter… o_O**

**If you have any ideas on how I can improve, please let me know. :)**

**Peace!**

**Silverbells**


	3. Thoughts, Hiding Spots, and Frying Pans

"Rapunzel! Let down your haaa-aair!"

Rapunzel sighs and with great effort manages to drag herself over to the window. "Coming, Mother." And as she pulls her up, she can't help but wonder what her mother would do if ever finds out about her daughter's little rebellion. Scream and pitch a fit, certainly. Find a guard for the tower, probably. Lock her up and throw away the key, possibly. It makes Rapunzel's head hurt, knowing that she's swimming neck-deep in deceit.

It's only been a week since she's left her tower, and with guilt coming down harder with every passing hour, she feels as though she's stolen a peerage and a handful of priceless jewels instead of just sneaking out for a lantern show.

It's enough to make her want to blurt out an entire confession. But she holds her tongue.

Finally, Mother swings herself in through the window, smiling broadly, completely clueless about her daughter's lies and rebellions. As the two embrace, Rapunzel sees that, not for the first time, Mother is lovely, in a very… _Gothel_ sort of way. Her curls are thick and glossy, and they frame her angled face like a flowing black waterfall. The deep crimson of her dress brings out the same ruby color of her lips. With her clear gray eyes and dramatic cheekbones, she's bewitchingly beautiful. And even bewitchingly beautiful is more than Rapunzel can ever hope for.

Briefly, she wonders what Flynn thinks of her appearance. Does he find her pretty, does he think she's too thin, or too un-curvy, or does he think her hair is too long? She looks down at the waterfall of hair pooling at her feet and sighs slightly. At times like this, she wants nothing more than to take up her scissors and chop away –

"RAPUNZEL!"

Oops. Mother.

"Rapunzel, darling, pay attention. I've brought your paints for you. I did have to escape a group of thugs to get it for you, but here you are. Happy birthday, dear!" Mother exclaims, handing her a flat box wrapped in green cloth and tied with a little purple ribbon.

Rapunzel giggles in surprised delight, because she had completely forgotten about the paints. They're in glossy little ceramic jars, and each one is filled with a different color. Uncapping each one in excitement, she reveals rich greens the same shade as the forest foliage, clear blues like the streams she's splashed through, lovely pinks and purples like the flowers she's smelled, and luminous oranges and yellows – like the lanterns. And it is at that moment she realizes – she can't paint the outside world. It's supposed to be a secret, for goodness's sake! If she starts painting pubs and castles and markets, what will Mother think? Her excitement drains away as she realizes that she'll only have memories of her journey to cherish. Nothing more.

Masking her disappointment, Rapunzel looks up at her mother with a smile on her face. "Thank you so much, Mother. I love them." And she does, really. She just wishes she could do something special with them.

"I thought so, darling." Gothel then drops into her chair and picks up a gold-plated hairbrush. "Now, won't you sing for me?"

Rapunzel sighs, but does she have a choice? _"Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine…"_

She's once again the outsider looking in, except this time she has no dream to keep her going.

O*O*O

Flynn stumbles over a jutting tree root and goes sprawling in a cloud of dirt and grit. He throws out an arm to stop himself, but all the momentum he's built up before his fall sends him skittering across the ground in an ungraceful tumble. He crashes to a stop on his knees with one hand pressed into the gravel, the other clutching the satchel.

"Ow," he mutters, sitting back on his heels for a moment to grimace at the torn, bleeding skin of his right arm. His palm is slashed with crimson, as is the rest of his skin from his fingertips to his elbow. "Ow," he says again as he pulls himself to his feet. Mentally, he curses the guards, the tree root, and his own stupidity. Of all escape paths, he just _had_ to pick the stoniest, most uneven of them all.

Shaking off any traces of pain, Flynn bolts around a sharp curve just as a dozen gleaming arrows strike the ground behind him. He can hear the pounding hooves of palace horses, the shouts of the guards, and the fast _thwonk thwap thwap _of arrowheads burying themselves in tree trunks and branches. His insides twist as the whoosh of crossbows being fired comes closer and closer.

And then he crashes to a halt, staring openmouthed, because he's just come face-to-face with a cliff, which is made up of gray and lavender stones and drops sharply, towering a massive thirty feet above the rest of the forest.

_Boooo. _

_I'm trapped, _he realizes, feeling a panicky jolt. His gaze follows the steep drop down, down to the pile of fallen boulders piled at the base. He can't just climb down. No, it's much too steep, and too precarious. He most certainly can't jump. If he does, he'll come crashing down, and he'll hit the ground with a splat and end up looking like a smushed toad.

If he does happen to (nobly) die on one of these on-the-trail-of-Flynn-Rider chases, he at least wants to look good.

Hoofbeats draw closer. It sounds like thunder, echoing through the forest and making it sound as though an entire army is passing through instead of just four guards and their captain. The noise seems to rouse Flynn, and he shakes himself a bit. _Think, think,_ he orders himself. In a few minutes, the guards will be here, in their pink-armored glory, and they will cart him off to jail and give him a few moments to reflect on his fate before dragging him off to the noose.

And the noose is the last place where Flynn wants to meet his end. Not that he actually wants to meet his end.

But yes.

He needs an escape route.

Shouting erupts behind him, combined with the braying of the horses. No, it's not just coming from behind him. Where…?

He peeks over the edge of the cliff, and his jaw drops. There, standing at the base of the cliff, their crossbows and helmets gleaming in the afternoon sun, are yet more guards. There are at least twenty of them, maybe more, each one with full liberty to shoot him.

Now what? He's cornered. He is sandwiched between two groups of guards and their steeds. There are guards behind him and a massive cliff in front of him, with more guards waiting for him at the bottom.

_Shoot. _

Unless he…

His mind reels. This idea is so crazy, so reckless, so unbelievably _Flynn_, that it just might work.

Guards burst through the trees behind him, and below, arrows come soaring upward just as Flynn takes a running start, braces himself, and jumps –

And there is a flash of blue –

And green –

And there are arrows, one after the other, each missing him by a hair –

And then branches, slowing his fall –

"Oof!"

Flynn catches himself on a tree branch and clings to it until he can breathe normally. He dangles about eight feet from the ground, and when his pulse rate finally slows down, he releases the branch. This time, he lands in a crouch with his fists up for balance. The satchel bumps against his hip, and he feels the delicate frame of the crown through the thick leather.

"Wow…" he murmurs, still slightly dazed. He's jumped off a cliff… one that is made of solid rock… and gotten pummeled by tree branches…

And _survived._

Sometimes, he wonders if he's either extremely lucky or an immortal supernatural being trapped in the body of a twenty-one year old. He's cheated death too many times to be a normal human.

All right, he's alive. Now what?

Clamor increases from behind him, and he realizes the guards are still in on the chase. He has to admit, the captain has trained his men well – at least when it comes to patience and perseverance. In the art of the chase and target practice, he's not so sure.

_Rapunzel._

The name flashes through his head the way sunbeams pierce and flash through murky water. His mind kicks into overdrive. From what she's told him (or not told him, for that matter), nobody has ever seen or found her tower in eighteen years. Nobody except her mother, and, of course, Flynn.

If her little tower has remained unknown to nearly everyone for so long, surely it can hide a lowly thief for at least a few hours.

He turns around and whistles long and loud, just as a group of red-faced guards come galloping up behind him. Waving, he calls, "So long, boys! Take a good look, because this is the last you'll see of me for a while. _Au revoir, mes chéris!"_

The guards squall, with one voice, _"R-I-I-IDER-R-R!"_

Sometimes, Flynn wonders if they practice synchronized screeching as well as swordplay.

O*O*O

The smooth gray wall towers before him. It's about seventy, maybe eighty feet high, and it looks innocent enough. In fact, it looks like any other ordinary stone wall in the forest, save the fact that this one is smoother than most, and it's a softer shade of gray, too. It looks almost elegant.

Pausing to take a quick glance around, he slips through the curtain of ivy that drapes a hidden entrance that seems to be carved, almost, through the stone. The air is cooler here, and it's damp and dark. Heck, this little nook itself would make a perfect hiding spot.

Flynn scuttles through a short tunnel and emerges in the hidden valley. His eyes flood with light, and after blinking several times, he once again stops to gape at the massive tower before him. It's tall, yes, and grand, and elegant, but it doesn't seem to have much space. In fact, it seems like barely anything, and he feels a fleeting twinge of pity for the girl who is confined to that tiny space. No wanted she wanted to leave so badly…

He is suddenly reminded of himself, as a young boy, leaning out one of the few windows in the orphanage where he grew up. There had been so much longing in his life… longing for a chance to be free… for a chance to live.

Ouch. Where did _that_ come from? Flynn gives his head a quick shake and reminds himself fiercely that the orphanage, and the boy he had once been, never existed.

He's almost grateful when he hears singing, which distracts him from his thoughts. The melody is soft and sweet, and Flynn stands at the base of the tower, looking up at the open window seventy feet above. Pity wells up in his chest once more, pity for this bright, lively young girl trapped in the close confines of her home. Just like he once was.

"_I've got my mother's love I shouldn't ask for more I've got so many things I should be thankful for Yes, I have everything- except, I guess, a door Perhaps it's better that I stay in But tell me... when will my life begin?" _

_When she finally learns to rebel a little, probably,_ he thinks, pulling a pair of arrows out of his satchel and using them to pull himself up the length of the tower. Actually, he's basically dragging himself up – he spends most of his climb saying "Ow" and muttering unpleasant words, as the slashed and scraped skin of his right hand and arm stings mercilessly when he grips the rough wood of the arrow's shaft.

Many curses, slips, and bumps later, Flynn finally pulls himself onto the broad windowsill, which is decorated by multicolored flower boxes and pink climbing roses that frame the arch of the window frame with their glossy leaves. He perches on the windowsill for a long moment as if frozen, his hand poised to push the window open. He's slightly nervous, although he's not quite sure why. Is it because he feels sorry for Blondie, or is it… something more? He bites his lip for the briefest moment before scolding himself.

_Oh, come on,_ he tells himself with disdain. _She's just a girl; she won't bite._ With that thought in mind, he pushes the window open. He shoves harder than he's supposed to, and all the weight he's thrown onto the mahogany wood sends him tumbling into the main room of the tower with a thud.

So much for a cool, confident entrance.

Flynn scrambles to his feet, rubbing his shoulder, and notices that it's a heck lot quieter than it should be. And it's dark. His eyes make out a vague display of colors and shapes that seem to be splattered across the walls, an assortment of furniture (how did they _get_ that closet and sofas up _here?_) and a small kitchen. The place smells of lavender, like_ she_ does, but the girl who should be up here in this place seems to have vanished (along with her frog, thank heaven).

Flynn hesitates, wondering if he should call out. The silence wraps around him like a heavy blanket, and it's so thick that he can't bring himself to shatter it.

_CLANG!_

_Crud,_ Flynn thinks as he feels a dull pain in the back of his head. _I should've seen that coming._

He hits the floor.

And everything goes black. 

O*O*O

**FRYING PANS! Who knew, right? Heeheehee! :D **

**Okay, so I wanted to thank everyone SO SO MUCH for your awesome reviews! You are all**_**mes chéris!**_** :D If I had the time, I'd be writing long, flowing shout-outs to all my reviewers – bkwrm19,** **Alexiyah, Peanut, KiraKira, Reverend Lovejoy, FairyTaleLover6, Gigi, obsessivereader95, jelliebean, JaneBird, Tangledup, bStormhands, Violette, and PampleMousse07 (squee!) – but I just don't have the time for individual thank-yous. I'm sorry!**

**But, however, I **_**can **_**say this: your reviews and support make me happy, hyper, and sparkle like a star in a constellation. :) **

**More to come soon!**

**Peace!**

**Silverbells **


	4. Wakey Wakey

Rapunzel is sitting up high in the rafters, trying out something called a "lotus pose". It involves sitting crisscross, only you have to settle your feet into the hip crease, or whatever it's called. At the moment, she's not having much luck. She keeps tipping over backward whenever she tries to get her feet into the correct position, and she can't seem to find her "center of balance", as it's called in her exercise book.

Pascal perches on her knee and is repeatedly being bumped and jostled, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he's laughing at her as she squirms and bounces, trying to pull her heels up so they rest flat. Rapunzel scowls at him. "That's not very helpful, Pascal," she reprimands.

Pascal turns a (fake) sad blue, hunching down and flashing his big chameleon eyes up at her. Rapunzel ignores him and peers down through the wooden beams of the rafters. Her hair is looped several times around one of the boards to keep her from falling, and for added safety she has wrapped it around her waist, too. Her exercise book, which started this whole shenanigan, is lying open in her lap. Rapunzel frowns at the illustration, which shows a faceless, featureless form in the lotus position. She tries to bring her heel up yet again like it shows in the picture. All in vain.

Frustrated, she leafs through the pages to find any helpful tips. _The best method for relaxing the body and calming the soul isolating oneself in a quiet, empty room with as few light sources as possible_, the book states. Go figure.

As she has nothing better to do, Rapunzel decides to give it a shot. She swings down from the rafters, leaving an irritated Pascal high on one of the rickety beams, and closes the main window so that the only light comes from the tiny skylight high above her head. There.

Using her tresses as a rope, Rapunzel nimbly climbs back up into the rafters and perches there again, sitting cross-legged with her eyes shut. She does a few breathing exercises. In, out. In, out.

Pascal mimics her by sitting with his spine rigid and straight, and he puffs out his cheeks and sucks them back in alternatively. Rapunzel ignores him and instead focuses on picturing a ball of light, radiant and glowing, hovering above her breastbone.

_CRASH!_

Rapunzel and Pascal squeak simultaneously, and then, two seconds later, turn as stiff and rigid as statues formed by terror. Rapunzel slowly slides her hand across the board she's sitting on, and her fingers close around the handle of her most trusted weapon. Silence settles over the room the way a thick fog settles over a forest.

She hears footsteps, albeit hesitant ones, and her heart leaps and begins hammering in her ears. She takes a deep breath and slowly, silently slides to the floor. The figure stands facing the stairway, a silhouette against the weak rays of white light filtering in through the skylight. Rapunzel takes a deep breath, steps forward, swings –

And makes contact.

_CLANG!_

The figure/ruffian/thug hits the ground like a sack of flour, and before Rapunzel can stop herself she screams. It's LOUD, her scream, and outside she can hear a flurry of wings and frantic squawking as several birds outside flee the source of the scream. Pascal squeaks indignantly from his spot on the wall – he must've found his way down from the rafters.

"Oops." Rapunzel turns red and sheepishly hold out her arm for him to climb on. Luckily, the person lying motionless on the floor does not stir. It's too dark to make out his features, so she pushes open the window to let the light shine in –

Oh.

Oops.

Double oops.

"Oops! Omigosh! Omi_gosh_, I didn't mean to!" Rapunzel cries, although she has absolutely no idea who she's talking to. Pascal, probably. Or more likely, she's talking to herself. Or whatever. Right now, she doesn't care. She drops to her knees and shakes Flynn's shoulder, for that is exactly who the alleged ruffian turns out to be.

Oh, she feels so stupid. Yes, she acted blindly out of fear, but still, she should've remembered that Flynn is the only person beside Mother who knows where her tower is –

Arrrgh.

She's stupid.

So, so stupid.

When Flynn fails to respond to all her shoulder-shaking and insistent poking, Pascal scampers over to Rapunzel and squeaks something in chameleon language.

"No, you may not stick your tongue in his ear," Rapunzel retorts, kneeling near Flynn's head and trying to visually check for any dents or cracks in his skull. Unfortunately, it's rather difficult, seeing as Flynn's thick hair is blocking any view of alleged fractures.

_Why? It worked before, _Pascal squeaks.

"Yeah, but it shocked him into waking up," Rapunzel explains. "Don't you think he's had it rough already?"

Pascal gives a reptilian snort and begins smacking Flynn's face (or rather, the part of his face that isn't pressed against the floor) with his paw.

"Pascal!" Rapunzel swoops down on him and scoops him up. "That's not nice."

Pascal huffs indignantly. However, Rapunzel is feeling too guilty about Flynn's latest addition to his collection of frying-pan bruises to notice. Carefully, with a lot of pushing, she manages to turn him over on his back into a more comfortable position so he's not sprawled out all over the floor.

"Sorry," Rapunzel tells him yet again, painfully aware that if he can't hear her (and he most likely can't), it's her fault, because she's the one who randomly whacked him with a lump of cast iron. That would be… the third time she's knocked him out. The fourth, actually, if you count the time she thwacked him on the head the moment he had recovered from the first blow…

_Squeak! _

(Insert sound of slimy, icky chameleon tongue being stuck into innocent, unconscious person's ear.)

"ACK!" Flynn yelps and bolts upright. This causes Rapunzel to release another (smaller) scream, and she then proceeds to ungracefully topple over in a flurry of skirts and scuttle backwards on her elbows in a very crab-like manner.

"I'm-so-sorry-I-didn't-mean-to!" The words tumble out like slick pebbles the moment his eyes fall on her. She turns bright pink.

Flynn opens his mouth, pauses, then closes his mouth and looks at her. "What?"

"Um… nothing?"

Yeah, right. Like he'll actually buy that.

Oh, gosh. She's in for a whole lot of trouble.

O*O*O

**Hi!**

**I know, it's an EXTREMELY awkward/incomplete/crappy ending to this chapter. :O It's just that I won't be able to post for the next month or so, so I'm throwing this awkward/incomplete/crappy chapter at ya so you'll be occupied. :-} *sheepish face***

**Okay-dokay, let's get them reviews on the way! Love 'em… ah, I mean, love ya! :D**

**Peace!**

**Silverbells **


	5. You'll Come Back?

**Yaay, new chapter! ;) I'm so proud of myself for actually getting this one DONE! :D Ahahaha… well. Sorry, but this one's ANOTHER filler – wah wah wah. :( I know, I know… too many fillers! Arrgh!**

**Don't worry. I'm pretty sure that the next chapter will also be a filler (surprise, surprise) – BUT, the one after that actually gets exciting. :D With any luck, I should post my next chapter by, hmm, next week, but no guarantees. I'll do my best, though. Enjoy this chapter, though! **

O*O*O

Flynn currently has a grand total of four – count 'em, four! – frying pan-induced bumps on his head. The latest addition to his collection is a knot about the size of walnut still in its shell. It throbs painfully, but he's seen (or rather, felt) worse. Like the guards' Captain and his coiled black whip, and the Stabbington brothers' rock-hard fists. He's been bested before, and he will be again.

But this is a _girl _we're talking about here. A petite, blonde girl with a pet frog has taken him down four times. With a frying pan.

The blow to Flynn's dignity is immense, almost as immense as the bruises he's accumulated over the past few days. However, the girl sprawled before him on the ground looks nothing like the fierce pan-wielding young lady who is responsible for his head injuries and possible migraine. No, this person is absolutely terrified, lying in a heap on the floor and tangled up in her satin skirts. Her eyes portray a range of emotions: confusion, bewilderment, wonder, and fear. Slowly, she backs up in a crablike manner until she hits the wall.

Flynn cocks his head at her. "Hey."

She squeaks as though she's forgotten he can speak and tries to back up further, except her back is pressed to the wall and there's no more room to back away.

Amused, Flynn scoots closer to her. "That's a very nice way to treat someone you've escaped death with, Blondie."

She peeks at him from behind her knees. "Escaped… death?"

"You know. Me, you, the guards. Maximus. The dam."

"Oh."

_Well. She's quiet._ Flynn's previous memories of Rapunzel involve her swinging like a monkey from her hair while screaming at the top of her lungs. Now she sits silently, knees pulled up, playing with a few stands of her hair. She strokes, separates, and twists the clump of hair around her fingers. She does not meet Flynn's eye.

He watches her. She looks nice today, he notes; her dress is bright blue with short white sleeves and ribbons crisscrossing up the front. The gown flatters her figure and goes nicely with her rosy cheeks and sunny hair. As before, her tresses are flowing all over the room like a golden river.

_That's a lot of hair, _Flynn muses, not for the first time. To say that Blondie has a lot of hair is an understatement of the highest order. Her tresses are gorgeous; lush and well-groomed, her hair spills down her back like a waterfall and continues to flow wherever it finds space. It's everywhere: on the floor, dangling from the rafters, and snaking up the stairs like a disturbingly long serpent.

Flynn has never had a thing for long hair. It gets frizzy and tangled after a certain length, and it's incredibly hard to keep it well groomed and presentable. But Rapunzel is an exception, also of the highest order. In fact, this much hair isn't human. Some odd little feeling, a random thought, stirs in the back of Flynn's mind. It slips away before he can make full sense of it, the way bubbles pop when you touch them, but he gets a vague feeling that Rapunzel is not an ordinary girl. Not just because of her hair, although that's part of the feeling. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or maybe it's her eyes. Those luminous green eyes that are so hauntingly familiar, like the faint memory of a lost dream.

"Are you mad?"

Flynn jumps. "What?"

"At me. For hitting you again." Rapunzel gazes at him from behind her knees, which she's pulled up to her chest. Her eyes, which have changed shades with her shifting emotions, are forest green, dark and unreadable.

For a moment, Flynn had gotten lost in her eyes. He knows that he's seen the likes before, emerald green orbs that shine with life and energy… and wisdom. He shrugs these thought away, however.

"Ah. About that, Blondie… you really need to start watching where you swing."

She winces. "Sorry."

Flynn shrugs and gives her a half-smile before letting his eyes wander about the room. It's not tiny, but it's certainly not a place you could spend eighteen-plus years in. Everything is crammed together: there's a kitchen nestled in a corner, a living area covered by embroidered rugs, and a stairway that leads up to another narrower floor where the bedrooms probably are. Overall, it's nice, but kind of stuffy.

"Um… why are you here?" Rapunzel speaks up timidly. She inches forward so her back isn't pressed into the wall.

"Oh. Well, I was being chased by guards, and I needed a place to hide." He shifts a bit so his satchel is in view.

"Oh." She looks slightly disappointed, as though she hoped he'd come to give her company, and he chides himself for being so callous.

"Most of my hiding places are boring, so I figured I'd hide out someplace interesting for a change," he adds. "But seriously, Goldie, what's up with the height? I mean, it's got a nice view, but you can only appreciate a view for so long."

Rapunzel laughs, and it's not like one of those tinkling giggles or bell-like titters. Her laugh is full and throaty, more voice than bell. "You're weird," she says. "It'll be fun to have you over. How long do you plan to stay? Because I can only hide you for so long, you know. If Mother…" she stops abruptly and changes the subject. "You can stay until…" she bites her lip and twists a lock of hair around her fingers as she thinks. "Five-fifteen."

Flynn glances at the clock on the wall. It's four-thirty exactly. "Is that when your mother comes back?" And what kind of mother keeps her daughter prisoner in her home?

Rapunzel nods. "She goes to the market and sells things, like her embroidery and fabric. Sometimes she takes my paintings, if they're on canvas. But usually I paint on the walls." She pauses as if she's suddenly remembered something and glances at him with a little frown. "You said the guards were chasing you. What did you do this time?"

Flynn recalls the red-faced guards in their pink garb and snorts. "I got caught playing pranks," he says. "Is it my fault the guards don't know how to have fun?"

"And they're not after you for your satchel?"

_Boy, she's sharp._ "That, too." He sighs softly, remembering the fierce rivalry between his two personalities. He's pretty sure Rapunzel hears, but she doesn't say anything.

"What do you plan to do?" she asks instead. "While you're here, I mean."

"That's a good question," he responds.

"What happened to Maximus?" she tries.

"That's a good question." Actually, Flynn feels kind of guilty after she asks him that one. From what he can gather, Maximus sort of just... trotted off once Flynn and Rapunzel pushed off in their boat to watch the lantern show. Flynn hasn't seen the horse since.

"Wasn't he chasing you with the guards just now?" Rapunzel understands about duty.

"That's a good question."

"Not everything can be a good question, Flynn," she says, annoyed.

"Oh, yes it can – ah!"

Rapunzel bolts upright, startled. "What?"

Flynn prides himself on not showing pain, but now he grimaces at his injured right arm. He'd forgotten about it for a little while (due to the significantly more painful experience of being knocked unconscious with a frying pan), but even so, he should have remembered not to slide his hand across the wrong side of a rough wooden floor. The pain of having a few sharp edges of a floorboard dig into the multiple gashes on his palm reminds him that he should hurry up and bandage it before it becomes infected.

Rapunzel sees him making faces at his wounds and timidly crawls over to inspect the damage. "What's wrong?"

The last thing he wants is Blondie's sympathy. "Nothing. I'm fine." He shoves his hand behind his back.

She pulls it out again and turns it over. "Oh!" Rapunzel has not seen many injuries in her day, but then, she lives in a tower, and she has her magic hair to heal her. The most severe injury she's ever healed with her hair is probably a twisted ankle, but twisted ankles are not bloody and jagged like Flynn's multitude of slashes. She feels her stomach do a little flip at the sight of such a badly scarred patch of skin. "Oh, Flynn. What happened to you?"

Flynn wiggles his fingers and groans. "I took a bit of a tumble."

"It needs to be bandaged," she mutters to herself, still holding his hand in both of hers. "Hold on – Mother never keeps bandages, but I have linen that might work. And we don't have ointment, but you can wash your cut off in the tub over there." She gestures with her chin in the direction of a washtub brimming with soapy water. "I'll be right back." And she scurries off, presumably to find that linen.

Flynn warily approaches the washtub and sticks his hand in. The water is scalding, and he yanks it back out. Then he notices the cheery, rainbow-colored soap bubbles that have no business being there on his palm and plunges it back in. It stings. He pulls it out. Stupid bubbles. He puts it back in. This process repeats itself for a good long while before Rapunzel reappears with an armful of white strips of cloth.

"Oh, good, you've washed it," she notes, failing to notice that Flynn is in the process of shaking the evil bubbles off his hand. The stupid things won't leave him alone, but Rapunzel does not sympathize. She grabs his hand and begins to wrap the linen around his palm tightly. Her hands are gentle but firm to the touch, as though she's worked her whole life. Flynn studies her face, but her eyes remain fixed on wrapping his hand. He's so close that he can smell the lavender scent that clings to her hair and clothes, and something inside him flutters. The warmth from her fingers spread to his own, producing a tingling sensation that makes Flynn nervous. Perhaps Rapunzel can feel it too, because her cheeks are stained pinker than usual.

Finally Flynn's hand is wrapped, and when she releases it he feels almost disappointed. Blushing, she stares at her toes while she wraps her hair around her fingers. This scene, to Flynn, is getting old. He takes hold of her wrists and pulls them out in front of her. She stumbles forward out of surprise – right into his arms.

_OhgoshwhatdoIdo? _Flynn freezes in his awkward position: a hand on her back and the other – oh shoot, this is so wrong_ – on her waist. _This is_ so_ not supposed to happen. Rapunzel has fallen flat against him, so that he's her only means of support, her hands have landed on his shoulders and seem to have forgotten how to let go. His hands are experiencing the same problem and – oh, blast and wretch. Why can't he _move?_

Flynn has held women this exact same way before, let's be clear on that. Maybe he hasn't done it out of passion or caring, and not often, but still, he's done it. But never, not once has he felt quite the way he is feeling now.

For Rapunzel, this is strikingly new and even a bit – well, terrifying. Up until now, she has never been hugged by anyone other than Gothel, and even her mother has only wrapped her arms around Rapunzel's shoulders – never her waist. So great is the difference between Gothel's hugs and this strange new way Flynn is holding her that she has a hard time absorbing it. And yet, she actually kind of likes this. She likes the way Flynn is hugging her. She notices that, in contrast to the fragrant mix of roses and vanilla she gets when she hugs Gothel, Flynn smells more like pine and the forest after a rainstorm. His hand is larger than Gothel's, and even though he is holding her lightly, so very lightly, she gets the sense that he can break her like a twig.

After what seems like an eternity (although really just a moment or two), Flynn gently takes her shoulders and straightens her, and suddenly he's caught in her eyes, deep and green and as overwhelmed as he is. Rapunzel pulls back and pretends to adjust the little blue ribbon on her right sleeve. "I... I want to thank you again for taking me to see the lanterns," she says softly after another awkward silence.

Flynn takes a step back. "Forget it," he says, pretending to be very interested in the wall just above her blonde head. Behind him, he can hear the frog clicking its tongue in disapproval.

"No, really," she insists. "I guess letting you stay here is the least I can do... you know. To repay you."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, well... hey, Blondie, did you paint that?" He gestures toward the section of the wall just above the fireplace that depicts a cloud of lanterns frozen in time above a girl perched in a tree. A river of hair spills down her back; her face is not visible, but everything in her posture depicts longing, wistfulness.

Shyly, Rapunzel follows his gaze. "I painted that right before I met you. I think I did pretty good, but that's just me. Mother doesn't like that painting; she says I should stop moping about the floating lights and find something to do with myself –" she stops, realizing that she has just unintentionally painted a bad picture of Mother for Flynn, and holds her breath.

He doesn't say anything, but in his head he thinks, _What kind of a mother _is _she?_

"Anyway," Rapunzel rambles on, her voice high and nervous, "those paints aren't nearly as nice as the new ones Mother just got me for my birthday. The colors are so much brighter, and they stay that way for ages even after they've dried; at least, that's what I've read in my art book. Oh, it's dark in here, isn't it? I should get the skylight." Without so much as a pause, she scurries across the room, gathers up her hair, aims, swings, and releases. By some mysterious defiance of gravity and the natural laws of physics, her hair wraps itself tightly around the knob of a window that has been built into the ceiling. With a tug, the window swings open, and light floods the room. Flynn blinks in disbelief.

_Squeak!_

"Pascal!" Rapunzel cries as the chameleon takes a head-first dive into Flynn's satchel and begins rooting around for any treats that might have been stashed in there. Rapunzel lunges for him, but Flynn just nudges the satchel away from him and shrugs.

"He can't do anything to whatever's in there," he says dismissively. Seriously, that chameleon weighs next to nothing and is smaller than a biscuit. How much damage can he possibly do?

_Chomp! _

On second thought –

Flynn drags an unhappy Pascal out of his satchel. Pascal is chewing on the rim of something shiny, golden, and jewel-encrusted, something that he has no business chewing on.

"Give me that," Flynn says, holding the chameleon by his tail with one hand and pulling the Lost Princess's tiara out of his mouth with the other. Pascal gives a small _pluh _of disappointment and blows a raspberry at Flynn, who doesn't notice since he is too busy shoving the tiara back into his satchel and praying that Rapunzel won't ask any questions. He really shouldn't have brought it here. He really, really shouldn't have. A quick glance at Rapunzel's face tells him she is just as curious as Pascal.

"What's that?" she asks, scooping up her horribly annoying frog and stroking his head.

"Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing."

"Well, it is."

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Flynn!" She scowls, but he presses his lips together and gazes out the window. "Fine," she sighs. "Don't tell me. I don't care."

"It's a crown," he says softly. "More specifically, a tiara."

"Ti-a-ra," Rapunzel repeats, her mouth turning up at the corners. "Tiara."

"The type of crown, yes. You like the jewels?"

"They're beautiful." Rapunzel can see part of the tiara sticking out of the satchel. A hundred tiny gems and large teardrop-shaped diamonds all catch the light, sparkling like something celestial. Flynn shoves it back out of view.

Rapunzel has a thought. She proposes it gently, softly, so as not to drive him away. "Is this," she says, "what the guards were after? The tiara?"

"Among other things." He looks away, and she feels a funny flutter in her stomach.

The clock chimes; both thief and girl jump nearly out of their skins.

"Five already?" Rapunzel gasps, leaping to her feet and scurrying to the window. The sun hasn't set yet as it's summer, but there's already a humidity and sleepiness lingering in the air. "But that means Mother –"

Flynn is already one step ahead of her, slinging his satchel over his shoulder and swinging over the side of the window. She stops him by putting a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," she says. "This is faster." She gathers up her hair and drapes it over the small hook above the windowsill; a river of sunshine spills seventy feet to the ground. Flynn gapes.

"You know, Blondie, if you weren't so obedient you could make a killing as a thief," he suggests with a mischievous grin.

She pokes him in the collarbone. "Very funny."

He rubs the spot where her finger made contact. "On second thought, you'd make a much better palace guard, especially with that deadly frog of yours."

"Chameleon!"

"Right." He grips her hair and is about to jump when Rapunzel grabs his elbow.

"Wait," she says again. "Are you coming back?"

Flynn's mind races. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. The first thing he learned as a thief was to change his hiding place every few days; _never hide in the same place twice. _However, the rule fails to mention what to do if there is a beautiful girl who's asking you to come back and keep her company because you are her only link to the outside world. Oh, his head hurts. Or maybe that's just his frying-pan-bruise collection that's throbbing.

And yet –

There's some part of him that feels sorry for her. Sorry because she's a prisoner, as he used to be. Flynn Rider may have changed his identity, but he still remembers, detail for detail, everything about what it's like to feel trapped; what it's like to not be free.

"Yeah," he says. "I'll come back." He flashes his crooked grin over his shoulder at her. "Do me a favor, though. Keep your pan where I can't see it."

Her laugh follows him down, down, down, past the creamy stone tower walls and ivy and sunbeams to the grass below.

O*O*O

**Gee, I hope this chapter wasn't TOO boring. :-} I promise you, the next chapter will speed things along A LOT, so stay tuned!**

**Snuggly-duckling hugs to everyone who reviewed! **

**Peace, love, and Pascals,**

**Silverbells**


	6. A Book

**Let me start off first and foremost with –**

**I GOT A FLYNN RIDER DOLL! EEEEEEE! He's sitting next to me right now as I type, rolling his eyes at this crazy fangirl whom he's forced to live with for the rest of his life. Luckily, he has Rapunzel, so he won't feel too overwhelmed by my ditziness. :D LOL.**

**And second of all –**

**So sorry for the delay! For some reason I'm completely inspired for future chapters, but when it came to writing this one, another filler *gets loud boos from audience* I was completely nix on ideas. Seriously, this chapter is, in my opinion, choppy. **

**And... it's LONG, surprise surprise! Well, by my standards. I honestly thing I'm DRAGGING this whole thing out way too much. :-/ You know how I said that this chapter would be the last bit of boringness before the next one? Well, I had to split it – so that means ONE MORE FILLER!**

**Sorry!**

**No wait, don't leave! I promise I'll make it up to you guys! Starting from the chapter after this one, this whole story will be more fast-paced, exciting, and dark. :) So bear with me, 'kay? **

**Hope you enjoy. See you on the other side (or rather, at the bottom of the page)!**

He knows the woods like the back of his hand, whether it's day or night. He rarely goes out in the daytime – too much light, too little secrecy. But once the sun slips below the horizon, the dazzling colors of the forest all fade to monotonous shades of gray and dark blue. Mist extends its gray fingers, weaving them between the thick foliage. Tree trunks take on grotesque appearances as the shadows sweep through. Branches turn into arms that reach out with twisted fingers. A thick, eerie silence hangs in the air like a wet blanket.

It's just the way he likes it.

Most people with brains never venture outside after dark. Even in groups, they are not safe from the vast lakes that are hidden by the darkness, or the yawning pits that are swallowed in black. Even if they manage to avoid such traps, there's always the threat of ruffians.

Thugs.

Thieves.

Muggers.

Escaped criminals that roam the woods at night, brutal men who use lost and frightened travelers as means of entertainment.

But he has nothing to fear.

After all, Cutjack Stabbington is one of the brutal criminals himself.

He and his brother, Gaston Stabbington, move swiftly and silently over a shoreline of rocks and pebbles. The pale light of the moon makes their skin appear white, and their hair a more fiery tone of orange. With their enormous, muscular builds and ghostly pale complexion, they look like paranormal beings walking the earth by night.

Cutjack scans the shoreline and the surrounding trees, which he's circled about ten times already. He crushes the hilt of a dagger in his fist and lets a stream of colorful curses fly. "He's not here," he hisses, murder on his face.

Gaston grunts. He doesn't speak unless he has to, which isn't often. Now he jerks his head toward the woods, a thin smile playing across his face.

"That's our next stop," Cutjack growls, turning his gaze of iron onto the thick cluster of trees and shrubbery. "And when we find him –" he grabs his dagger and lashes the blade at a thick tree branch. There is a crack, and the branch splinters. A hundred shards of wood rain down like arrows and lie limply on the earth like scattered bones.

Cutjack sheaths his dagger and rips a poster off the now pitifully sagging tree trunk. He stares with a look of bloody hatred into the painted, arrogant eyes of Flynn Rider.

"He'd better have that crown, or else."

With that, Cutjack Stabbington rips the poster to shreds.

O*O*O

"_I'll be back..."_

Those words are still chasing him around two weeks later. He didn't say when he'd be back, did he? A week, a month, a year, a decade could go by before he visits her again, and he'd still be true to his word. He can just imagine himself swaggering up to her tower after twenty years and pleading innocent when she charges him with her frying pan. "I did keep my promise!" he'll say. "I said I'd be back. I just didn't say when." And then, in his mind's eye, the imaginary Rapunzel scoffs and brings her pan down on his head with a resonating _clang._

Feeling rather useless – he doesn't want to go see Rapunzel just yet but also doesn't want to risk getting carted off to the noose – Flynn makes a getaway at the Snuggly Duckling Pub until he figures out what to do with himself. Besides, the brawls and eccentricities that are always popping up there are always good for a laugh.

Unfortunately for Flynn, the moment he sets foot within the moss-eaten walls of the pub, he is immediately hounded by Vladimir, the biggest human being of all time and, as Flynn has only recently discovered, an avid ceramic unicorn collector. Vlad's enormous form fills the entryway and nearly brushes the ceiling, and if that's not terrifying enough, he has one giant finger pointed directly at Flynn.

"Rider, our Smoldering Supreme!" he bellows, loud enough to be heard all throughout the pub.

"Oh, please." He discreetly shifts so that his satchel lies flat against his side. "What's up with you?" he asks, trying to maneuver around Vladimir's massive form. "Holy pickle crap... did you guys rip a hole in the _roof?"_ Astonishing as it may sound, it's exactly what the numbskull thugs appear to have done. Where there was once a tangle of rafters and rope and tree branches, there is now a jagged hole so gaping that the pub, which is normally so dim that torches are kept burning even during the day, is now awash in sunlight and actually smells pretty good, too. Courtesy of the wind, most of the bad-man-plus-really-bad-man smell has been swept right out the brand-new skylight.

As Flynn stands gawking, he notices that the thugs who aren't idly chugging down tankard after tankard of beer are standing and negotiating. Some gesture violently toward the sad-looking heaps of broken wood lying in a corner, which are undoubtedly the remains of the roof. Others scribble down what appear to be plans for remodeling; presumably for a more stable ceiling.

Hookhand, who is one of the gesturers, and Big Nose, who is one of the scribblers, march over to Flynn. He makes an attempt to back away, but Vladimir is filling up the entire doorway. Shoot.

"Rider!" Hookhand gives Flynn a slap to the back so forceful it nearly knocks him over. "You bring the girl with you?"

Flynn rights himself. "What?"

"The girl," Big Nose chimes in, his face aglow. "Is she here?"

Flynn has a pretty good idea which girl they're yakking about. It's like she is following him around everywhere; maybe in thought more than on foot, but she's still there. And now she has tagged along to the Snuggly Duckling. Like he doesn't already have to deal with her face popping up in his mind's eye every two minutes. "Girl?" he says sweetly, trying to maneuver around their combined mass. "Are you talking about that beauty I took from under the king's nose a few weeks ago?"

Big Nose and Hookhand frown.

"The crown, guys, the crown," Flynn sighs. "You'd think everyone would know about it by now. They've got my wanted poster all over the kingdom because this is my biggest crime yet. I'll hang for sure if they catch me, and you guys don't know about it?" He folds his arms across his chest. "I'm so offended."

Big Nose and Hookhand share a glance.

"A crown's not the same thing as a girl," Big Nose points out, quite reasonably.

"No no, when I said _girl_ I didn't mean... oh, forget it," he huffs. They are so literal-minded.

"Well, did you bring her?" Hookhand persists.

"We figured she'd like the skylight," Big Nose adds. "It's for her – she didn't seem to like the dark too much. Besides, she was nice to have around. She's pretty cute, too, don't you think?" He grins sideways at Hookhand, who chortles.

"I wouldn't know." Flynn can feel his face turning pink and wishes the stupid skylight didn't let in so much light; that way, then the guys wouldn't notice his cheeks reddening considerably. "And no, I didn't bring her. She has a strict curfew."

"Too bad," Big Nose says. "I like her, don't you, Rider? Don't you think she's cute?"

"Yeah," Hookhand joins in, and Flynn considers punching him in the nose. "I think she's the prettiest girl around. Did you see her hair? It's practically gold! It makes her eyes stand out, too, like – like –"

"Emeralds," Big Nose says dreamily. "Big green emeralds." Now why does hearing Big Nose talk in a lovey-dovey voice about Rapunzel make Flynn feel hostile and envious?

"Yeah, emeralds, right." He clears his throat and tries to steer the conversation away from golden hair and beautiful green eyes. _He's not jealous. He's not jealous. He's not jealous._ "Who's that new guy?" He jerks his head toward a stocky man with a beard braided into two points. His horned helmet sinks low over his eyes, which are already half-hidden by thick, bushy eyebrows.

Hookhand follows Flynn's gaze. "Oh, yeah, that's Bastion. He has a dream to make books and sell them for underrated prices."

"If I were him, I'd be selling books for piles of gold," Big Nose shouts. He has somehow gravitated to the other end of the pub, where Bastion is lifting his silver-plated helmet up off his eyes so he can scrawl something down in a book that looks heavier than Vladimir. Big Nose is suddenly splattered from head to toe in ink. Flynn snorts. Big Nose glares at him before saying something to Bastion, who nods and hands him a book that looks like it might be used as a brick.

"Here," huffs Big Nose when he manages to lug the book back to their table. "Look."

The book is beautiful, the cover a deep crimson and the pages with not quite smooth edges. It appears that Bastion has just begun filling it, but the pages he has covered are absolutely amazing. It's more like a scrapbook than a reference book or encyclopedia – one page is filled with presses leaves and flowers, all labeled and categorized; ten pages are full of sketches of the kingdom and its history; a colorful painting that depicts a forest scene graces another.

"Wow," Flynn whispers. Since he was a child, he's loved books of all kinds. He never has much time to read anymore, which is stupid, but what can you do. Still, this book so carefully created brings a flood of memories rushing back to him – a worn cover beneath his fingers, the handsome face of a strong youth in an illustration.

"Too bad it's not finished," he says, almost to himself. "Blondie would love it." The words pop out of his mouth before he realizes it; his head snaps up to meet the laughing eyes of Big Nose and Hookhand.

"Yeah," Hookhand grins. "She _would_ love it, wouldn't she? Maybe we should finish it and give it to her."

"What!"

"We can add lots of pictures – wasn't it her first time in the kingdom ever?" Big Nose plows on, oblivious to Flynn's discomfort. "Maybe we should draw a picture of the skylight. I can write my life story. Hookhand here can write about pianos. Vlad can draw a unicorn, maybe. Attila can send his recipe for cupcakes. Gunther can write up some tips on interior design and – what are you so bug-eyed about, Rider?"

Flynn shakes his head. "Guys, this is stupid. You don't even know where she lives. How are you going to give it to her?" Okay, that was even stupider. He looks around for an escape exit.

"Duh. You know where she lives." Big Nose rolls his eyes. "You'll take it to her."

"How do you know I won't just run off with your precious book and sell it?"

"Because you love her!" Big Nose and Hookhand slam hands and shake the walls with their laughter. Flynn lunges, intent on killing them both, but Hookhand catches him by the collar. "Hey, learn to take a joke, Rider."

"Say that again and I swear I'll murder you both," he snarls, yanking the tip of a gleaming hook out of the fabric of his vest.

"Okay. Truce. You give her the book, and we won't mention your love life ever again," Big Nose says soothingly. "You okay?"

"Of course I am," Flynn snarks. "I tried to kill you both to help my own health."

What a long day this is going to be.

O*O*O

Maximus is grazing in the forest. The wild grass tastes so sublime that for a moment, as he chews a sweet mouthful of clover, he actually considers regressing in rank and society to live the humble yet carefree life of a wild stallion. He won't have to wear heavy saddles on his back or have his mane tied up in rows of unsightly little knots, and never again will he have to sleep standing knee-deep in damp straw in a cramped stall in a stable. In the mornings, he can wake up early to watch the sun rise in a glorious periwinkle sky; or, if he feels like it, he can snooze till noon. The day will be his – he can gallop freely for as long as he likes, explore the beaches, and of course, eat the wonderful grass. The possibilities are endless, endless!

Then Maximus has a realization. It is a realization so stunning that the mouthful of grass in his mouth is entirely forgotten. A single blade of grass dangles from his mouth as he stands there, temporarily too shocked to continue chewing. If he does choose to go with this daydream, he will never again be admired, praised, or looked upon with reverence. People will no longer look at him and exclaim, "There goes Maximus, the noblest stallion the kingdom has ever seen!" In fact, if anyone does see him, they will most likely be some lazy peasant who won't be able to see how glorious Maximus is. In fact, the peasant might even say, "Oh look, a fine white stallion. He must be wild. I think I'll take him home and use him to help plow the fields."

What a nightmare!

Maximus shudders. Even though some tiny wild corner of him protests strongly when he abruptly stops grazing and walks away, he knows his position in the world. He is Maximus of the Palace Guard, loyal steed of Captain Thomas Miller. His mission: FIND FLYNN RIDER. AND ARREST HIM.

The only thing that puts a damper on such a noble and heartfelt mission is the fact that Maximus has actually begun to like Flynn Rider against his will. Even though he's a bossy, pouty, overly self-confident criminal, Maximus is kind of fond of him.

He is in denial though, so when he feels a tad bit sorry for so passionately wanting Rider jailed, he snorts and flicks his ears as though a pesky fly has whispered the thought to him. Feel sorry for Flynn Rider? Please!

Feeling proud of this mission, he struts off into the forest.

He will be most unprepared for what is to come.

O*O*O

After three hours of watching a flurry of ribbon, paper scraps, paintbrushes, and a storm of dried plants change hands from one man to another as they cut, paste, write, and draw in what is to be Rapunzel's new book, Flynn dozes off on a table. It isn't very comfortable, but there is no other place to rest his head on, and anyway everybody is too busy with their project to notice him. Because of this he doesn't realize just how perfect this present really is.

He is awakened to the sound of pots and pans being banged and someone shouting in his ear.

"Wake up, Rider," Big Nose bellows while poking him repeatedly with the pointy corner of a great big red book that is now overflowing with stories to tell.

"Whaa," Flynn mutters, searching for a pillow to plunk over his face. Unfortunately, there is no pillow whatsoever. Big Nose goes on shouting as he takes Flynn's satchel and shoves the book inside.

"Okay, here's your purse, tell the girl we said hi," he says as he drags a very drowsy Flynn off the tabletop.

"Satchel," Flynn corrects through his sleepy haze. "Oof." Big Nose slings the satchel with the book around Flynn's shoulder, except with the combined mass of the book, the entire load now must weigh a hundred pounds extra.

Somehow the men manage to shove him outside while keeping him upright. He walks aimlessly for a little while before his body begins demanding that he finish his nap. Willingly he complies, dropping to the ground without a second thought before drifting off.

O*O*O

Maximus is very frustrated. He has burrs in his mane and mud on his coat. His hooves are caked with dirt. And he still has not found Flynn Rider.

With a long, huffy snort, the horse equivalent of a sigh, he flops down on the grass and considers his options. Number one: he can devote himself entirely to this chase and be the first being to single-handedly tame and capture Flynn Rider. Number two: he can recruit other wild stallions, and maybe a nice mare or two, to help him in his search, although this means equally distributing the glory among all the horses, which isn't as much fun. And of course, there is option Number Three, which involves giving up, going home, and remaining Maximus, just Maximus, for the rest of his days.

The words "just" and "Maximus" simply don't go together.

Feeling the need for some inspiration, Max stands up and tosses his head so that his mane flies in a graceful arc over his head and swishes around his neck. He stands straight and proud, staring straight ahead like the noble stallion he and gives himself a brief pep-talk. He is Maximus, Maximus of the Palace Guard. He will accomplish what no one has accomplished before: attack, subdue, and capture the infamous Flynn Rider single-handedly. He_ will_ succeed. He _will _be remembered throughout the years. He _will_ return home with the unconscious thief slung over his back like a sack of oats and receive hundreds of awards, titles, apples, and... what was that?

A curious scent tickles Max's nose. He sniffs the air. His ears stand straight up on top of his head. He wonders if his eyes are going to pop.

That... scent... can... only... belong... to...

Holycarrotsit'sFlynnRider.

Maximus decides to be sneaky. After doing a quick celebration dance and congratulating himself on his fine sense of smell, he couches as low as a horse can possibly get and crawls quickly but stealthily through the grass, keeping his nose to the ground. Every so often, he pauses to duck behind a rock or tree, which isn't necessary, but it makes him feel professional.

Eventually Max shuffles into a clearing and stops in shock. Lying in the grass on his side, with his satchel tucked under him, is Flynn Rider, peacefully sleeping as though he's perfectly safe in a bedroom – which he isn't. Maximus practically dances around the clearing with delight. Could this be any easier? All he has to do his find something heavy to knock Rider out with and then the rest of the battle is his.

Looking extremely smug, Maximus scuttles through the grass toward the thief to make sure he's really sleeping. Being a vagrant and all, he must be a light sleeper, so Max studies him from about three feet away, just to be on the safe side. Rider is curled up around his satchel using one arm as a pillow. He looks entirely serene, and kind of nice when he's not smirking or pouting or insulting people.

Max shakes this last thought away and slowly approaches his soon-to-be prisoner. He is about to bop him over the head with a hoof, but then Rider wrecks his master plan, like he always does.

He smiles. Not his arrogant, swaggering smile that's always plastered across that smug face of his; a small, sweet smile that makes Max's heart melt.

Max frowns. This isn't supposed to happen. He circles the snoozing young man a few times, inwardly debating with himself until he feels as if he's about to explode with frustration. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he flops on the ground and glares at Rider with all his might, trying to flip that stupid smile into a scowl. Apparently equine brain signals don't flow very well into humans, because Flynn stays asleep.

_Gr-r-r-r._

O*O*O

Flynn is dreaming. It's strictly against his personal policy to dream, as it leads to wild thoughts that bounce around in his head for the rest of the day, but here he is, lying around, dreaming, and thoroughly enjoying himself. In the imaginary world is mind has constructed for him, there are stars. No earth, no clouds, just stars, like sequins on black velvet. The stars aren't twinkling, as they normally do, nor are they as distant as usual. They burn with an orangey-yellow light and drift lazily like fireflies across the sky, pulsing and alive with fiery energy.

Before he can make sense of what they are, they vanish, and are replaced by emptiness. And an odd huffing, snorting sound that is extremely distracting now fills his head.

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, half-asleep.

"Neiggh," comes the reply.

There is something rather useful about being a thief. It has to do with the adrenaline rush you get the second you sense danger. Within all of five seconds, Flynn Rider is wide awake and scrambling for his life, only he realizes that if he chooses to cut through the trees in front of him, he'll appear in open space. Most likely, a guard or two will be posted there just in case.

He whirls around. Maximus approaches him, panting and scowling. Flynn presses up against a tree and prays that something will fall out of the sky and flatten the horse's demon head.

Well, Max's head doesn't get flattened, but he does stop short, his nose inches from Flynn's face. He blinks in confusion, snorts, and tries to put up his menacing act again. He fails miserably.

Flynn blinks. "Good horse..." he says soothingly, doing his best to imitate Rapunzel. Slowly he approaches Maximus, who looks rather forlorn at his failed attempt to subdue the thief. Flynn puts his hand out to pat the horse's nose, but he freezes inches away from Max's fur.

Max whinnies, and Flynn cautiously moves his hand forward until he is gently stroking the velvety muzzle. "Good horse," he says again, relaxing slightly. "Why aren't you back with the Palace Guard?"

Max's ears droop.

"Huh. They kicked you out?"

Snort.

"No? Uh... you left?"

A sad nod.

"How come?"

Shrug.

"You don't like it there."

Indignant snort.

"Okay, you do."

Sigh.

Flynn's heart is going out to this horse against his will. Words pop out of his mouth before he can stop them: "I don't have anywhere to go either."

Eyes widen.

"Yeah, I know. I could use a horse, though. Mode of travel, no trouble. Plus I hear they're loyal for life."

Max narrows his eyes.

Flynn shrugs. "Come with me? I have a date with a tower and I can't be late."

Max stays still for a minute, then plows into the young man at tops speed and whinnies with agreement.

This thief isn't so bad after all.

***facepalm***

**Don't you hate it when a chapter turns out really bad and you're not inspired otherwise? Sigh.**

**Anyway, thank you all for your thoughtful and very sweet reviews! You make me smile. :)**

**I PINKIE PROMISE I'LL MAKE THIS HORRIBLY BAD CHAPTER UP TO YOU! Later...**

**Peace, Love, and Pascals,**

**Silverbells**


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